


Second Chances

by scootsaboot



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Isolation, M/M, Possession, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-04-28 05:42:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5079973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scootsaboot/pseuds/scootsaboot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s alone and it doesn’t fill him with as much relief as he’d thought it would.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place right after Helios crashes in episode 5. Just a note, this fic is going to get pretty dark and violent, and the rating will absolutely go up as I get further into it. More tags will be added as well, so make sure you read them all!
> 
> special thanks to ssealdog for the beta!

When Rhys comes to, it’s all pain. His left side is dark, and he stares half lidded at the wreckage of the space station above him with his good eye. There’s a small breeze, cool against his skin where tears have dried, smelling like oil and metal, still burning somewhere far away. He struggles to move, a whimper on his tongue when he sits up.

Rhys can feel himself shaking, his center of balance thrown off thanks to the missing weight at his right side. He lifts his hand to his temple. The blood is tacky now, dried in place; his fingertips brush against the rim of the hole in the side of his head and he nearly gags. He quickly drops his hand, and with some effort, manages to get to his feet.

He glances at the broken window of Jack’s office, and then the spot where the AI had gotten down on his knees and begged him, _begged_ him, not to let him disappear.

It’s quiet now, a strange silence settled over the remains of Helios, over _him_. He realizes that this is the first time he’s truly been alone since he and Vaughn had left the space station. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once; his thoughts are finally his own, and he doesn’t need to worry about losing control anymore, but…

but he’s _alone._

He’s alone and it doesn’t fill him with as much relief as he’d thought it would.

Rhys unclips his tie from his shirt and bends his head down to wrap it around, covering the hole where his port used to be. It takes him a few tries to tie the knot, his fingers slipping against the material. Once he gets it though, he pulls his head back up and takes a breath.

Rhys carefully steps around the remains of the office, looking for…he’s not really sure. Bandages, maybe. He doesn’t find any, just a few broken electronics and some of the items from Jack’s trophy case strewn across the ground. Glass crunches under his boots as he steps over to what’s left of the case; he spots the Atlas logo nestled between some rubble. The frame is broken but it’s easy enough to slide the deed out. He doesn’t bother reading it over before haphazardly folding it and shoving it into his pocket.

For a moment, Rhys entertains the idea of staying put. The crash would have been seen for miles.

Maybe…maybe someone would come looking for him.

No. He clenches his fist. He’d seen the caravan leave Helios, without him. Fiona and Sasha had left him to die.

_Can’t trust anyone_. The words rattle in his brain and he remembers the echo eye in his back pocket, pats it to make sure it’s still there. He sighs and pulls it out, letting it rest in his palm. The blue light pulses, slow and dim, just barely warm against his palm. It’s a good minute before he tucks it away again, this time in his breast pocket.

Rhys squares his shoulders and starts walking, away from the wreckage and away from Helios for the last time.

 

* * *

 

 

His leg still hurts, and limping across the Pandoran desert is about as slow as it sounds. The wasteland seems to stretch on forever, and when Rhys finally glances behind him, Helios has disappeared in the distance.

He thinks about Vaughn, and the last time he saw him. He’d told him to run, and Rhys wants to believe he escaped from Vallory, that he’s still alive somewhere. He wonders about Yvette, and Sasha, and Fiona, a mix of concern and anger and fear swirling around his heart. He hopes Gortys is okay. Hopes Loader Bot didn’t suffer.

The sun beats down on him and the sharp pain in his feet only grows worse the further he walks. He tries to count his footsteps as he travels, both to keep track of miles and push unpleasant thoughts from the forefront of his mind.

The walk is quiet, empty of settlements and bandits, in the heart of _nowhere_. The only life he sees along the way are far off skag packs, and a large rakk that circles him from above, waiting. He doesn’t get much sleep, pressing tight against the sides of rocks that jut up from the ground, uneasy.

It get increasingly hard to get back up again.

It takes him two days to reach the Atlas facility, the familiar dome appearing over the horizon like a beacon.  He’s so happy to see it, he wants to shout, or cry. Something. He’s too exhausted.

The large doors are wide open, just as they had been last time.

The cool air is refreshing against his skin, burned red by the sun, and he breathes deeply, keeping himself together as he makes his way to Cassius’ home. He half expects the man to be there still, but when the doors slide open, the room is empty. It’s dark save for the dim blue light shining through the shattered window from the plant life just outside.

Rhys steps forward and nearly falls, barely catching himself against the doorframe. His arm shakes with the strain and he takes a slow breath before standing on his own again. He limps into the room and over to the counter against the back wall, reaching for the knob on the sink and hoping beyond hope that it works.

The metal squeaks and the pipes hiss from below before water comes rushing out of the nozzle, cool and clear and wonderful. He doesn’t hesitate to lean down and open his mouth to drink from it, feeling it cool his insides.

He unwraps his tie from its place around his head, wincing when it peels dried blood away from the hole in his temple. Grabbing a ratty towel, he wets it and starts to clean himself up, wiping the blood from his temple, and then his eye. He shrugs off his vest and lays it across the counter, followed by his shirt.

Rhys sucks in a breath when he sees the state of his shoulder, the metal casing of his arm’s port is ripped clean off, revealing twisted, broken wires flecked with blood amidst ripped skin. He swallows thickly and tries to ignore the nausea building in his stomach as he cleans it out as best he can, biting his lip to stifle his whimpers.

He knows he should try to find a first aid kit, clean everything out more thoroughly so nothing gets infected but…he’s so tired. Rhys spots a haphazard pile of sheets and blankets and quickly shakes them out before glancing around for a good spot to crash.

He drags some sheets over to the round table near the kitchen area and sets up a makeshift bed beneath it. Once he’s satisfied, putting together what almost looks like a fort, creating a small wall of pillows between him and the door, he toes off his boots and lies down, drifting off to sleep in a matter of moments.

 

* * *

 

 

He spends the first day just trying to keep himself together. He finds the first aid kit and clenches his teeth when he disinfects his injuries, the alcohol burning white hot against his skin. Bandaging his temple and eye are easy enough, the gauze stuck in place with a few pieces of medical tape. His shoulder is another story. Rhys holds the end of the gauze around the curve of his shoulder, pressing the tape into his skin before he pulls it across his chest and under his arm. He pauses when he gets to his back again, unable to reach any further and pull it around.

It takes a long time to get it down, and he has to use the counter to keep the gauze from rolling to the floor. But he finally gets his shoulder wrapped up, his hands shaking with frustration by the time he’s done.

He finds a new shirt, old and ratty and a few sizes too big, but he slips it on and messily ties off the right sleeve.

Food is easy to find at least. Most of the plants in the dome bear fruit, and he vaguely remembers what Cassius had had in his home during their last visit, and tries to pick things that look similar. It’s not much, but it’ll hold him over.

There’s plenty of scrap metal lying around Cassius’ workshop, and Rhys isn’t shy about dragging it all out to the middle of the floor to rifle through for pieces he can use for a new arm.

He sets to work, and tries not to think about the echo eye still in his vest pocket.

Rhys works in silence for a while, bent over his drafts and concentrated fully on what he’s doing, a million variables and equations running through his head. When he catches a flicker of bright blue out of the corner of his eye, he freezes and his eyes dart up, searching for—

“Ja—“

He cuts himself off, eyeing the piece of metal several feet away from him that’s glinting blue, reflecting the light from outside. Rhys scowls and forces his head back down, angry at himself.

The build doesn’t go well.

After two days, all he has is a skeleton structure and too much wiring that doesn’t work.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath when the wires spark uselessly and the elbow joint remains motionless. “God _dammit_ ,” Rhys shoves it away from himself and sits up straight, taking a deep breath.

“C’mon, keep it together Rhys,” he says to himself, his voice rough and tight from disuse.

The dome is so quiet. Between living in close quarters on Helios, then the close quarters on Pandora, Rhys is used to the hum of every day noises. People talking, laughing, the ticks of fingernails on keyboards, gunfire…even Jack, who never let him have a moment to himself, omnipresent and filling all the spaces of his head where his thoughts didn’t reach.

The biodome blankets him in a heavy silence he’s never experienced before, and it’s suffocating.

Rhys looks over his drafts again with a tired eye before pulling his prototype back into his lap. He grabs his screwdriver and takes it apart, piece by piece, trying to concentrate again.

It’s difficult, and the more he dwells on how quiet it is, the worse it seems to get. He starts to hear his own breathing, ragged and unsteady, and he forces himself to inhale more slowly, quieter. His ears pick up his heartbeat then, against his chest, the blood rushing through his veins, and Rhys slaps his screwdriver against the floor suddenly. The sharp sound bounces against the walls, echoing in the small room, and he feels his hand shaking when it quiets again.

It’s getting to him.

He starts to think out loud, just to fill the space. He works through his drafts again, tinkers with the designs, and talks himself through building this time.

He says the names of his friends, as if saying them out loud will make them appear somehow and they’ll take him away from here. When the days continue to pass and he loses track of them, he starts to imagine what he’d say if he ever saw any of them again.

He’d apologize to Vaughn. For leaving him behind, for not finding him…for dragging him into this whole mess to begin with.

He wants to be angry when he thinks about Fiona and Sasha, muttering a “fuck,” as he clenches his fist. He _wants_ to be pissed off at them, wants to hate both of them, but it just hurts, deep and painful in his chest. “Left me to die, left me alone.” He sucks in a sharp breath, ignoring the stinging in his eyes.

Swallowing, Rhys glances toward the kitchen counter, eye softening when it lands on his vest, tattered and dirty. He thinks about the eye tucked just inside the pocket. He could…he _could_ …

“No,” Rhys says firmly to himself, shaking his head, “no no no.” He brings his hand up to his shoulder and _presses_ , whimpering at the sudden burst of pain. “Don’t forget this,” he gasps, repeating it like a mantra, “don’t forget, don’t forget, don’t forget.”

He takes a break from the arm, because it’s going nowhere, to look through the items on Cassius’ desk. There’s a lot of papers with scribbles on them that mean nothing to him, but there’s also an audio log, tucked away in the top drawer. Rhys pulls it out, sliding his thumb over the metal and wiping some of the dust away.

He takes a heavy seat in the chair, and presses play.

There’s nothing but crackling at first, but then, slowly, Cassius’ voice starts to come through, clear and easy. He talks about some project he’d been working on and Rhys is content just to listen to a voice that’s not his own.

Rhys lets his eye slip shut and leans back in the chair, and it’s easy enough to imagine it’s not just a voice recording—that Cassius is here too, speaking directly to him.

The file cuts off suddenly after an hour, and Rhys opens his eye tiredly to stare at the device, waiting for another log to start. When nothing comes, he reaches out and hits ‘replay’. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow it has been a long time since I've touched this fic, but hey, here's chapter two! almost a year later! ty to ssealdog for the quick beta work!!

“Red to black, red to green, black to black, black…black…” Rhys mutters to himself, curled over a thick bundle of wires laid across the floor. He squints, breathing heavy through his nose as he twists the exposed wires together tightly with a shaking hand. The mass is…vaguely arm shaped, and the casing is nothing but old, rusted metal, but at least he’s working. He’s being productive, proactive, instead of sitting around doing nothing, given how much that’s exactly what he _wants_ to do.

Cassius’ audio log is playing softly beside him, the volume lowered just enough so Rhys can hear himself, but still present as a soothing background noise. He’s listened to it so many times now, he can talk along with it, matching the tones and inflections of Cassius’ voice with his own perfectly. Sometimes, he’ll mutter questions out loud, and wait for the audio log to answer predictably.

(“but what about the energy cells?” Rhys breathes, and moments later, Cassius’ voice picks up again, “ _ah_ , and the energy cells…”)

The novelty wears out quickly.

Rhys feels weak and frazzled, like he’s losing his damn mind, constantly on edge. No one else is around to tell him he’s okay, that he’ll _be_ okay. He tries to tell himself instead, but he doesn’t even know if it’s true.

When the audio log stops this time, Rhys doesn’t play it again. He runs his fingers over his half-built arm and shivers at how cold it feels, goosebumps raising along his skin. He’s so tired, can feel it set deep in his bones, tugging him down further with each passing day.

But he can’t sleep.

It’s not for lack of trying. When he lies down, it’s like a switch in his brain gets flipped, and his thoughts go places he’d rather they didn’t (his friends deserting him, all the people who died in the crash _he_ caused, Jack, Jack, Jack, _Jack_ —) 

It’s enough to get him up, and he throws himself full body into making his new arm. He’ll sleep when it’s done, when he can leave this place and find Vaughn (because he _will_ , he will find Vaughn. _Alive_ ).   

He flexes his fingers and sits back on his knees, wincing when his back pops audibly. His shoulder throbs painfully, and when he inspects it, he can see reddish brown discharge seeping through his bandages.

“Shit,” he groans, struggling to get to his feet. The floor almost seems to move underneath his feet, and he has to close his eye until the vertigo passes over him.  He rubs at his good eye and sluggishly makes his way over to the sink.

He hasn’t been changing the bandages as often as he should, simply because there’s only the one roll in the first aid kit, and its dwindling fast. The antiseptic he’s been using burns like hell, and he has to grit his teeth against the pain every time.

Rhys peels off the bandages and carefully cleans his shoulder before rewrapping it with fresh gauze. His hands are cold and clammy, and more than a little shaky, but he manages.

“Back to work,” Rhys sighs heavily when he’s finished, turning to walk back to his partially constructed arm.

He pauses though, when his eye lands on his black Hyperion vest that he hasn’t so much as touched since he got here. His fingers twitch.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, creating a warm haze in his brain, or maybe the god forsaken silence he’s drowning in, or the loneliness—

But Rhys places his hand gingerly on the vest’s material, still smooth and soft, despite everything. He rubs his thumb over a small patch of dirt, swallowing when it clings to his skin.

“Not hard,” he mumbles to himself, unfocused as his fingers slip into the breast pocket, brushing against cool metal. “Just have to…rewire the connection.” Rhys glances at his surroundings, taking note of the different electronics in the room that could work for his purposes.

He eyes the large Atlas computer; he’ll have to power it on and make sure it’s a contained server, but it could work.

Rhys pulls the ECHOeye from the vest pocket, and something like fear grips his heart, digging in like a thousand needles.

The once solid blue light is gone, leaving the iris a dull grey.

“No,” the word catches in his throat, “no, no, no, _no_.” He shakes the eye in his hand, willing it to light up again.

He’d just—he’d just left it alone for who knows how long, not even thinking that the power would drain.  He doesn’t know if he can charge it up again, not with the materials in the dome, at least—and, it might be too late already. The AI—Jack—could have been erased, or corrupted, or—

Rhys’ only hope for some form of companionship is gone, just like that. Because he’s an _idiot_.

His chest feels tight and with the way it’s getting hard to breathe, it takes him a few full seconds to notice when the eye _does_ light up. It’s weak and soft, the blue pulsing for less than a moment before going dark again. Rhys holds his breath and watches until it pulses again, just as slow.

“Not dead yet,” he finally breathes, the relief overwhelming. Without any inkling of how much longer the power would last, Rhys forgets about everything else, and focuses solely on getting the AI transferred out.

He grabs some tools and shuffles to the computer, setting to work.

It’s actually fairly easy, wiring the eye to the computer and getting the upload ready. It only takes a few hours, which is good because Rhys is pretty sure he doesn’t have _days_.

He turns the computer’s monitor on and watches as code flies across the screen, too quickly to be legible. The screen goes black for a moment, before a bright yellow text appears:

_BEGIN UPLOAD FROM RYH5-W1NZ Y/N?_

Rhys watches the small cursor, blinking impatiently as it waits for his input. His finger hovers briefly over the keys before he types ‘Y’ and hits the enter button.

It’s kind of comforting to see the eye light up again, the blue bright and solid as the upload process begins. On the screen, the percentage bar starts to slowly inch along.

_2%....3%....4%...._

With a heavy sigh, Rhys drags a chair up and collapses into it. His knees pop, sore after kneeling on the ground for the better part of the day. The upload bar slows, then stops completely once it reaches twenty percent and Rhys can’t help but sigh again. Figures.

He feels calm though; rewiring the eye and hooking it up to the Atlas computer had put a lid on his anxiety, stamping it down somewhere deep. It should probably alarm him that he was able to focus so intently on bringing Jack back, but not on building his own cybernetics.

He can’t seem to find it in himself to be concerned.

Rhys blinks tiredly at the still frozen upload bar and sinks further into the chair, a wave of exhaustion rolling over him. He can’t help it, barely able to keep his eye open as sleep claws at him, digging in tight and pulling. He gives the screen one last look before he leans forward to rest his head on the desk, the metal pleasantly cool against his skin.

He goes out like a light. 

 

* * *

 

 

“—cking _IDIOT_!”

Rhys startles awake, heart pounding in his chest as he lifts his head.

“ _Rhys_!”

The voice shouts again, warbled and distorted, making the computer’s speakers pop. Rhys squints at the screen, vision still blurry with sleep, but he’s able to make out a familiar blue form, gesturing on the monitor.   

“God damn, kid! Thought you were dead for a while there,” Jack says, crossing his arms, “and y’know, at first I thought, _nice_ , cause you’re a backstabbing _traitor_. But then I realized you shoved me into this Atlas _piece of garbage_!”

Rhys winces at the volume and leans back in his chair, unable to stifle a yawn. “Hello to you, too,” he mumbles, bringing his hand up to rub his eye, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Jack’s eyebrows furrow and he looks like he wants to yell again, but he crinkles his nose instead, looking Rhys up and down, lingering on the gauze taped over his eye. Rhys watches his mouth twist into a sneer, a vast contrast from the last time he’d seen him (eyes wide, on his knees and pleading). There’s nothing like that in his expression now; his eyes are hard and angry.

“You ruined _everything_ , you ungrateful little brat,” Jack hisses, his words sharp and clipped, like he’s barely containing himself. “After all we’ve been through, all I tried to do _for you_ —“

“You tried to kill me. Twice.”

Jack scoffs, “only after you ruined my plans—and then, oh man, what was that other thing you did? Oh right! You crashed my space station into the freaking ground!”

When Rhys doesn’t reply, Jack barrels on.

“I gotta say though, I’m just a teeny bit surprised right now, you know?” Jack laughs cruelly, “After that whole,” he waves his hand, “ _incident_ after the crash with you ripping shit out of yourself just to get rid of me! I was impressed by your dedication. Thought I was, hah, dead _for sure_.”

“But you—you couldn’t even finish the job, huh? What’s the problem, kitten? Knew you’d miss me too much?”

Rhys lets out a quiet laugh and shakes his head. “Something like that.”

Jack pauses, his eyes narrowing. He looks like he’s trying to work something out, and Rhys takes that as his cue to get up. The head rush is worse this time, and he has to blink away the black spots that dance across his vision. Once it passes, he steps back over to his makeshift workshop and sinks to the floor, pulling the half-constructed arm into his lap.

“ _Man_ ,” Jack starts up again, his voice bouncing around the small room, “you really look like shit, Rhysie.”

“Thanks,” Rhys says dryly. He _feels_ like shit, but there’s work to be done, and the sooner he finishes his cybernetics, the sooner they can get out of this dump. Lucky for him, there’ll be no suffering from lack of conversation, since Jack loves to hear himself talk too much to go silent.

“ _Rhys_ ,” Jack says again, and Rhys has to smile at his predictability.

“Yeah?”

“What the hell!” Jack throws his hands up, “Why are we back at this dump?!”

Rhys sighs, carefully twisting a pair of wires together. “I dunno,” he admits, “it seemed like a safe place to be after…everything that happened. I knew there’d be material here to build new cybernetics.” He raises the arm slightly so Jack can see.

“Uh huh. What about your little bandit friends? Where are they?” Jack demands more than asks, voice taking on a suspicious tone.

Rhys gives a half-hearted shrug, “Gone. Probably got rich off that vault. Who knows?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Wait,” Jack says, his entire demeanor changing in an instant, “wait, wait, wait, let me get this straight.” His voice takes on a hint of breathiness, nearing a laugh, “you—Mr. _Friendship is Magic_ —got _ditched_ by that Pandoran scum? I—I hate to say I told you so but…ah, who am I kidding? I love saying that!”

He cackles loudly, clearly amused. Rhys feels something sharp in his chest and he tightens his grip on the wires. He should’ve seen it coming honestly; Sasha and Fiona were _con artists._ They’d been playing him from the start.

“God, that’s priceless,” Jack continues, miming wiping a tear from his eye. “Hoo, _man_. Alright, so, uh, you get ditched, crawl your sorry ass back to _this_ dump…and missed your old pal Jack so much, you plugged me into this outdated sack of shit.”

“Mm, yeah that about covers it, I think.”

“Great!” Jack claps his hands and rubs them together, “so what’s the plan, then?”

“Plan?” Rhys blinks, glancing at the hologram.

“Yeah, the _plan_ ,” Jack enunciates, “what are we gonna do about those two, huh? You should definitely kill the younger one first and make the other one watch. Reeeeaaaal slow, ‘yknow? Drag it out—“

“We’re not— _I’m_ not doing that,” Rhys frowns, dropping his head down to look at his arm again.

“Whaaat? No revenge scheme at all? I’m disappointed. Boo.”

He can feel Jack looking at him and it’s not long before he’s pressing him again, “ _well?_ You can’t tell me we’re just gonna stay here.”

“I grabbed the Atlas deed,” Rhys admits quietly, “figured I’d try to rebuild it. Do something good.”

“How noble,” Jack rolls his eyes, “but listen kiddo, you’re not gonna restart a dead company from here.”

Rhys presses his hand along his temple, gently massaging the skin as he feels a headache start to come on.

“Heh. You don’t look like you’re gonna be doing much of _anything,_ Rhysie. I can’t tell what looks worse—you or this freakin’ shithole.”

“I’m fine,” Rhys says automatically, dropping his hand.

“Maybe ya shouldn’t have ripped out all your little metal bits. Just do me a favor before you keel over, pumpkin, and stick me back in that empty little head of yours so I can do the honors myself.”

Rhys can’t help it—he laughs, short and high-pitched.

He shakes his head, “That’s—hah—definitely not happening.”

He hears Jack blow a raspberry, “Fine, but when this little plan of yours fails—cause it will—and you die horribly of infection, don’t say I didn’t offer you a quicker way out.”

“Well,” Rhys sighs through his nose, “I’ll be dead, so, probably won’t be saying much of anything.”

Jack snorts, and when he doesn’t say anything further, Rhys turns his attention back to his arm.

 

* * *

 

 

The days pass, and Rhys gets used to being bombarded by Jack’s words almost constantly again. There’s none of the praise he was used to, no gentle words telling him he’s a good boy. It’s all anger, sometimes loud and echoing across the dome, and other times, cold and calculating, hissing just loud enough for him to hear.

Jack tells him he’s ruined everything, he’s worthless, he killed thousands of innocent people. He’s a fuck up whose only friends ditched him as soon as they had an out. Jack uses his words like a knife, sliding hot between Rhys’ ribs and _twisting—_

But it’s not like he can argue with him. Jack’s right, only telling him things Rhys has told himself a hundred times over already. It’s not like it matters what Jack’s saying anyway, just that he’s talking. That he’s real and here and Rhys isn’t losing his goddamn mind to the emptiness.

“…and alright, I’ll admit maybe the whole meat suit thing got a little out of hand. Kinda forget when you’re already dead that uh—other people gotta worry about that shit—“

“Wait, what?” Rhys looks up from his arm for the first time in hours, wincing at the crick in his neck, because Jack was—was admitting something, and Rhys really needs to pay attention right now.

“ _Wait, what_ ,” Jack mimics, voice taking on a low tone, meant to be mocking. On the computer screen, he crosses his arms, looks down at Rhys. “I’m _saying_ , maybe you weren’t totally wrong being all, y’know, ‘ahhh don’t shove a metal skeleton in my body’. I get it! It would’a been real messy, probably smell like shit, but eh, y’know, hindsight or whatever.”

“You…” Rhys furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “so you’re saying your Jack army idea was a…bad one.”

“We all make mistakes in the heat of the moment, Rhys! I was on a roll, alright? And y’know what? I threw my best pal under the bus. I’m man enough to admit it, clearly the bigger man here because I haven’t heard an apology for crashing my space station, or _stabbing me in the fricken’ back_ yet! But hey, I’m a nice guy. We can get past this little speedbump, can’t we Rhysie?”

“You tried to kill me!” Rhys shouts. “How are you going to call that a little ‘speedbump’?” He clenches his fist, letting the anger and hurt roll over him. “I _trusted_ you! I did—I did _everything_ you asked me to, even at the expense of my own—my friends— _you ruined_ —“his jaw tightens, his eye starting to sting, and he has trouble getting anymore words out, catching in his throat. He takes a breath, wet and shaky. “I thought we were— _friends_ ,” he nearly chokes on the word. “We were supposed to rule Hyperion together and _you_ —“

“Alright! Give it a goddamn rest, you look like you’re about to keel over. I said sorry, didn’t I? What more do you _want_ from me, kitten?”

Rhys tears his eye away from the AI and stares at the floor.

“Look, Rhys, I get it,” Jack continues, voice softer than it has been since Rhys had plugged him into the computer, “getting fucked over. It sucks. I know how it feels. But what you and me did? That wasn’t betrayal.”

Goosebumps raise on Rhys’ skin, a full-body shudder rolling through him.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Jack says. “Isn’t that right? And good friends like us, Rhys, can get past a tiny, little misunderstanding.”

Rhys finally, slowly, looks up at the AI again. “A misunderstanding.”

“That’s right, baby,” Jack practically coos, “and I’m willing to let it go, and then you and me, Rhysie—we can get back to what we were meant to do. Rule Hyperion.”

“Helios is gone. Everyone’s dead.”

“Oh, come on! Where’s that can-do attitude? You were talking about raising Atlas from its dusty grave!” Jack gestures with his hands to the dome around them.

“That’s different,” Rhys says, but he can feel himself fading, his walls crumbling as Jack speaks.

“Only because Atlas has even _less_ resources than Hyperion. Y’know, it’s kinda a mess right now, thanks to those god damn Vault Hunters, buuut, Opportunity _is_ still standing. We’d have a much easier time working from there than this dump—it’s got an ECHOnet connection, robotics labs, medical bays, a huge food supply and—goddamn beds, Rhys! How long’s it been since you slept in a bed, huh?”

Rhys frowns, tries to think, but so much time has passed since he left Helios and now. He can’t remember.

“Yeah, it’s been awhile,” Jack laughs quietly, before his voice turns serious again. “And Rhys—we both know, if you stay here—you’re going to die. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your dwindling first aid supplies. And when you finish that nice little arm you’ve got there,” he points to the limb, resting just beside Rhys’ legs. “How are you planning on reattaching it? Gonna do some invasive surgery on yourself?”

Rhys says nothing.

“Yeah, didn’t think so. Listen, I’ll tell you what. You pack up, get me uploaded into something you can carry, and we go to Opportunity. We’ll get you fixed up, all good as new, and then we can get to work rebuilding my empire.”

Jack’s…not wrong. He’s actually got a point. Rhys’ antiseptic is running low, and once that’s gone, he’ll have no way to clean his wounds, and they _will_ get infected. He’d heard so much about Opportunity back when it was being built—how could he not? It was everywhere, all over Helios, advertised as a perfect, bandit-free paradise on Pandora.

“What if there are bandits there now?” he asks, “it’s been, what, a year and a half since Vault Hunters attacked it?”

“That’s, y’know, a fair point,” Jack smirks, “but I built that security system myself. We just get it powered up, and anything living, outside the main control room, gets fried to a crisp.”

“Okay, glad you were so prepared to kill everyone in the city. That’s—that’s good to know.”

“Hey, you never know what kind of shit you’re gonna be dealing with. Better safe than dead, kiddo.”

Rhys shakes his head, “that…really disturbing thought aside…how exactly are were supposed to get there? It’s too far to walk, and I don’t exactly have any cash.”

Jack waves him off, “Eh, there’s bound to be technical jeeps around. Steal one of ‘em and drive around till we find a fast travel. Got the coordinates right here,” Jack taps the side of his head, grinning.

“Problem,” Rhys starts, “If we run into bandits, they’re gonna kill me. Like, bash my head in and loot my corpse—“

“Death by bandit sounds way cooler than death by infection so. Take your pick,” Jack says, “Besides, as long as you’re not a _complete_ idiot, you’ll be just fine. Probably.”

“That’s reassuring,” Rhys says dryly, and he sighs, pulling his knee up so he can rest his head on it. He doesn’t want to start doing whatever Jack says—that’s what got him into this mess to begin with. But the AI makes a lot of sense. Too much sense.

“How am I supposed to trust you?” he asks quietly, “after all this—this shit you put me through.”

“Hey, I think we both know this was a two-way street, Rhysie. You and I both said and did some things we regret. It _happens_ ,” Jack says easily. “That’s how relationships work. You fuck up, you forgive each other, you move on.”

Rhys sighs heavily. He’s pretty sure the basics of human interaction kind of go out the window when attempted murder is on the table, but really, he can’t stay here. Whether Jack had kept that bit of information to himself or not, Rhys would have to leave eventually. At least now, he has a place to go.  

He forces himself to his feet then, swaying unsteadily for a moment, and looks around for something to shove his belongings in. He finds a tattered bag lying near Cassius’ desk, and it won’t hold much, but it’s something at least. It’s not like he has much anyway. He grabs Cassius’ audio log—it’s small enough to fit in his pocket, just barely, and Jack would still be able to communicate through it.

“I’m going to transfer you,” Rhys says, sitting cross legged in front of the Atlas computer, Jack’s scrutinizing gaze on him. He pops the cover off the ECHOlog and starts pulling wires out, managing to get it hooked up to the computer in a matter of minutes.

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Jack says with a frown, “just make sure you don’t leave me in that damn thing. I want a body, Rhys—one of the Loader Bots maybe.”

“We’ll…see,” Rhys says tightly, the idea of Jack in his own body pressing at something terrified inside him, “when we get there.”


End file.
